the heart on your sleeve
by theRighteousMan
Summary: In which Captain America and Iron Man fight, Bruce Banner is a total fangirl, and Toni Stark has an epiphany after she almost falls to her death. Fem!Tony, major Stony. Rewrite of She Fell (And Steve Rogers Caught Her). ONE-SHOT


They were fighting again. That in and of itself was never really all too surprising, seeing as it seemed to be their favorite hobby, and quite possibly the only thing they ever seemed to enjoy doing together.

Maybe it was because they were seen as polar opposites to almost all people. There were, of course, all those differences in demeanor, like how Steve Rogers carried himself on a ramrod straight spine and Antonia Stark slouched everywhere she went. He liked to exercise and eat healthy and follow the rules. She liked eating peanut butter M&amp;M's, spending all of her time locked away in her expansive lab, and the only things she really followed were irregular sleeping schedules and the rules of scientific laws (although that one wasn't really a hundred percent of the time).

Or maybe (and more likely) it was because underneath the cutting remarks and the bitter words and the biting tones, the two were almost exactly the same. They were tortured and damaged individuals, people who had made too many mistakes to count, and on top of that had to live with them for the rest of their miserable lives. Captain America had crashed that plane, chosen to save the world in return for his life, and had survived anyways. A girl with a (literal) broken heart had fought to escape her abusive captors and ended up helping to kill poor Yinsen in the process. They'd both been in the thick of war.

On a different note, their quarrels were something spectacular to behold; there was something both ironic and fantastic about watching a man from the past and a woman of the future hurl clever insults from eras forgotten or unreachable by others. Any verbal smack down between the two heroes was something that really needed to be recorded and sent away to a museum.

Sometimes, despite knowing it was wrong to do, Clint or Natasha would pick the lock on the surveillance room and let themselves and Bruce in. From there, it was only too easy to pull up the live feed from whichever room Toni and Steve would have their little shout-off. Then they would sit back, Natasha would conjure a bag of kettle corn from seemingly nowhere, and they would silently take in two different timelines clashing in a spectacular display of fireworks.

Tonight was no different, only sans the eavesdropping team members. The reason a furious Steve Rogers and a fuming Antonia Stark were standing off, in a conveniently soundproofed room instead of all warm and cozy in their separate and respective beds, was the same – a failure to follow orders, a failure to accept any helpful input in the formulation of plans of attack, and in result, a failed mission – as always. What was supposed to be a quiet recon had quickly turned on its head when Toni's repulsor beam in her left glove malfunctioned, and the amount of civilian casualties had been through the roof.

They were both exhausted down to the bones in their thumbs from several hours of very intense combat, and frustrated because Fury had held them at the S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters for another long stretch of time after the fight to rag on them about how much clean-up and cover-up it was going to take to keep a couple dozen lawsuits from landing directly in Toni's mailbox.

They were hungry too, because the agency's cooks were too invested in cleaning up some rookie's screw up in the kitchens, and Toni never kept enough food around the tower to make a dinner for six normal human beings, let alone for a super soldier, the Hulk, two master assassins, and the occasional golden-haired god. Lastly, they were completely caked in mud and sand slippery from their tumble into a vat of slick oil. There was even grit mingling in between the roots of their hair and under the white crescents of their fingernails.

It hadn't helped Steve's patience when Iron Man had decided that Captain America's instructions were doomed to lead their team to failure, and had taken off on her own to try and take down their enemy alone, ignoring her own responsibilities in the process.

It hadn't helped Toni's patience when Captain America was being a little too bossy and controlling to barely spare enough time to listen to Iron Man's proposal on alternate methods of fighting off an extensive army when their own assets didn't extend beyond five superheroes, a quinjet, and two S.H.I.E.L.D. agents – one pilot and one trainee – let alone consider her input.

It certainly hadn't helped either of their patience when it turned out that flying off on her own proved to be almost fatal for both the Iron Man suit and the pilot inside when the complex she was inside happened to explode, almost crushing her with several tons of concrete rubble. Or that Captain America had ever-so-slightly misjudged the number of bullets their enemies would be able to shoot in a matter of five point seven seconds, resulting in both the Hawk and the Widow landing in the infirmary. In their frenzied attempt at fleeing the rounds of gunfire raining down upon them, the fire-headed assassin had nearly been flattened by a falling chunk of building. The dirty blonde archer had been thrown into an eighteen-wheeler only moments later, as a rampaging robot tore up everything in its path.

They had both tried to reassure Steve that he wasn't to blame, but their words weren't exactly convincing to the Captain when halfway through their sentences, Natasha would surreptitiously clench her jaw and grip the bedrail as she tried not to jostle her crushed ankle, and Clint would stare forlornly at his broken arm, obviously attempting not to think how he would be unable to use his bow for at least six weeks.

Needless to say, both heroes were fed up with today and their numerous stinging injuries. In that moment, after a dead-on-his-feet Bruce and a limping Natasha and a sore Clint had stumbled off to bed, and they were left staring all of their failures in the face, tensions were high and tempers were on the verge of flaring.

Tonight, it started when Toni let out a little groan as she prodded at the practically shredded skin on her arms, wrapped in tight white gauze that reeked of disinfectant and provided her with a continuous feeling that her very veins were leaking white fire.

"What? What's wrong?" Steve snapped, running an angry hand across his forehead. It came away smudged with red blood and black mud. Toni whirled around to face him. She felt like some kind of fire demon with her long greasy brunette curls swinging into her face and malice practically burning her eyes until thy turned red. She sure as hell was not in the mood to deal with her _perfect_ captain and his _better-than-thou_ condescending attitude.

"Oh, nothing. I'm just a little worried about the fact that my flesh looks like ribbons on my arms," she snapped right back, glaring ferociously at the scowling blond man, whose face still managed to look attractive, even covered in crusted blood and bruised until his skin was a motley collage of yellow and purple and green. She had caught a glance of her reflection in the mirror hanging on the wall in the bathroom of the quinjet, and knew for a fact that with her pale cheeks and sunken blue-black eyes she looked like hell had frozen over and then been reheated. "Of course, you wouldn't have to worry about that. No, because whenever you get hurt your body just knits itself back together like some kind of freaky Frankenstein monster." Steve ground his teeth and clenched his fist. His stiff knuckles popped with the violent movement.

"I gave you your orders. You chose not to follow them, you were the one who flew off, and you were the one who wanted to challenge their general all by yourself. I can't really say I'm sympathetic."

"Oh, is that so? So I made a bad call by trying to contribute my own opinions and calculations, and then by getting mad when you brushed me to the side? In case you hadn't noticed, Clint will be down for at least a month and a half, and Tasha is pretty much useless on a broken ankle," Toni bit out. "Those are our friends all bandaged up and sore. What would have happened to me if I had stayed put? Would I be wrapped up in some body cast?"

In sudden need of a good strong drink, she pushed past Steve and made her way out of the room towards her bar. Like an angry cat, he stayed right on her heels, arguing in a tone that was low and dark."

"I made a mistake, Stark. We were caught by surprise, and had to compensate under the circumstances. Where were you when Barton sent out the distress call? Oh, right. Under a building."

"Actually, I was picking off rogue soldiers and trying not to let my malfunctioning suit die on me."

"And that's another thing! If your suit had been in proper condition, we wouldn't have even had to confront the enemy."

The argument was meaningless, and getting them absolutely nowhere in terms of pointing the finger, but they pressed on, venting every negative emotion trapped inside by hurling it at the other with cleverly formed insults attached on all sides until they were literally taking blind shots to get rid of the rest of their anger. Steve was already cooling off when Toni let out one last bitter remark before taking a large glug of her stiff drink.

"I wonder if you're even fit to lead us sometimes. I heard you let your own best friend die during the war. He fell, didn't he, off a train. Would you let me fall if I were dangling hundreds of feet above the ground? I bet you would." Toni knew she had gone too far as soon as the words left her lips. Steve froze, his ice blue eyes empty of anger and instead wide with betrayal.

She could almost see translucent tears swimming in cool blue at the accusation, at a jab that was much too far below the belt. She knew – _of course_ she knew, because a couple of weeks ago during one of their more civil periods, he had told her everything about his childhood best friend – that he blamed himself for Bucky's death, always had, and by pointing it out and using it against him, she was basically saying that he was an incompetent and terrible leader, and a truly awful friend. That wasn't her intention at all, and now she was left awkwardly trying to backtrack before he decked her across the face.

"Forget it Stark. I'm going to bed," Steve said in a depressing monotone, his shoulders droopy and his signature ramrod-straight spine deflated.

"Steve, wait! I didn't mean that!" she called after him, but he ignored her, his footsteps heavy on the stone floors. A few seconds later, she could hear the pleasant ding of the elevator, mocking her, and the doorway was lit up with bright fluorescent lights illuminating the elevator. She could hear the near-silent sound of Steve gingerly pressing the button to his floor as he boarded the car. Then the doors slid shut with a soft swish and the bright white light was extinguished, and she was alone.

That night she pretended she couldn't hear his faint cries as a nightmare disturbed his sleep.

oOo

The mission call came two days after their argument, during a quiet and incredibly awkward breakfast shared by Bruce Banner, Natasha Romanoff, Clint Barton, Toni Stark and Steve Rogers. Thor was on Asgard pertaining to matters involving Loki, had been for nearly a month now, and was supposed to finally be back around dinnertime. Upon Toni and Bruce's suggestion, Thor's use of the Tesseract on the Bifrost (which Toni had affectionately taken to calling Rainbow Road) had acted as some sort of super-glue, effectively restoring the one way in and out of Asgard to all its former glory. Travel between Midgard and Asgard was no hassle at all, and the top of Stark tower was permanently marked by a large circle of ancient Nordic runes.

During their 'breakfast of champions', which was the team's keyword for a silent start to what was sure to be a terrible day, nobody was speaking. It was Bruce and Clint's week to cook, and the two had whipped up a boatload of blueberry waffles, and enough bacon to kill a horse.

Bruce, who had learned how to make even the simplest ingredients taste five-star from his time spent as a refugee in India, and Clint, who had begun his carnie career as a chef in training before his mentor had discovered the boy's affinity for a promising career in archery, made a good team in the kitchen. The meal was fit for a king, the waffles crunchy on the outside and gooey on the inside, and warm all the way through. The blueberries had been delivered fresh that morning, and the bacon wasn't three weeks old and growing blue mold, like most of the food Toni had shoved in the back of her fridge.

The chefs had received three compliments that were completely honest but lacking any enthusiasm as they passed around dishes of strawberry syrup and whipped butter.

Actually, quiet breakfasts weren't uncommon at all in the Avengers household, because considering Natasha and Clint were two highly trained assassins, they were a complete wreck in the morning. It was considered a death wish to talk to either of them before they had downed at least two cups of hazelnut coffee each, and even then it would be pushing it.

Bruce was a total monster, for lack of a better word, if he didn't get at least a full seven hours of sleep at night. Steve was normally quiet even throughout the rest of the days, and believably enough was even more closed off in the mornings. Toni flat-out refused to speak to anyone before ten. Thor was the only person who actually spoke at breakfast time, and his words were normally only meaningless rambles until about noon, which was when he would finally begin dishing out his own little drops of wisdom.

Toni stared out the window at the skyline of the bustling city as she picked at her waffles, trying desperately not to meet the blue eyes of a certain blond-headed captain sitting across from her. Down on the sidewalks, among the bustling crowds of hurried New Yorkers heading to work or to school with cups of coffee or steaming buns wrapped in napkins in their hands, a small disturbance caught her eye. Someone was running in the street, shouting things that made heads turn and people tremble and stop what they were doing.

"What is that?" she asked loudly. Three tired and dirty glares were shot her way, two for disturbing the peace and one that she knew she totally deserved. Bruce simply sighed into his tea and scooped up another forkful of waffle. "No really. Look down there." She pointed a slender finger out the window. Steve pushed back his chair and stood uncertainly. Once at the window, he observed the hordes of people running from a gunman eighty stories below the scene of their silent breakfast. Down on the streets, crowds and cars alike were fleeing the scene, some pedestrians even shooting hopeful glances up at the top of Toni's skyscraper. Bullet holes peppered the sidewalks.

"She's right. Something's going on down there," he said. The words must tasted bitter on his tongue. Toni, to her credit, didn't even look smug, just kind of relieved that he had trusted her enough to actually walk across the kitchen to look out the window.

As if on cue, JARVIS spoke up. "Mr. Fury wishes to see you in conference room number eleven immediately. He is saying it's urgent." The five teammates shared a series of frustrated glances and then dispersed, heading for their tailored gear they kept packed away in the backs of their closets. Toni watched the others go, as her most recent suit was always stored next door in a sliding panel in the wall. Steve was the last to leave, posture stiff at being left alone with the billionaire. She knew he hadn't forgotten the things she said out of sleep deprivation and frustration for a failed mission. He moved to walk forwards when she stopped him, reached out her hand and gripped onto his forearm. "Steve, I just –" she started softly.

"Not now, Stark," he cut her off impatiently. "Wait until after the mission to have another go at me," he told her, shrugging off her butterfly-light touch. She deserved it after the insult she made, she knew that. But it still stung a little, to be brushed off by her childhood hero, told to be quiet and leave him alone. He stalked off silently to his room. Toni had an impulse to follow. Instead, she took off in the opposite direction, already fingering the bangle she kept on her that called the suit to her.

oOo

The briefing was useless, and the entire team knew it. Fury hadn't told them anything they didn't already know, just wasted their time by blabbing about details they had already figured out on their last mission or from looking out the kitchen window. In short, the disturbance on the street was a couple of rogue gunman robots from the army cyborgs they had fought two days previous. In a way, the idea of facing them again brought something unpleasant to the back of Toni's tongue. It was their fault, and her own, that she and Steve were playing the little 'silent treatment' game with one another. Seeing them again was just so… wrong.

Once Fury had dismissed them, the team of superheroes had wasted no time clambering on board their designated quinjet, where Clint and Natasha strapped themselves into the pilot and co-pilot seats respectively, and Bruce, Toni and Steve grabbed onto the ceiling handrails in the back.

"Is something going on between you and Steve? He keeps looking at you in a weird way," Bruce whispered like a teenage girl from behind his cupped hand. Toni doubted that wasn't true, only she figured 'weird' meant 'in complete and total disgust'. She risked a glance at him, to find that he was, only his eyes were soft and his mouth wasn't set in a hard, sharp line. His bright blue eyes were locked on hers for a fraction of a second, and the atmosphere suddenly felt tense and _very_ emotional. He was quick to avert his gaze. A faint blush was coloring his cheeks at having been caught red-handed. She turned back to Bruce, who was watching her with faint interest and raised eyebrows.

"What?" she hissed. He smiled knowingly at her, like they had some kind of inside joke going on. _Huh?_ "No, seriously, what are you talking about?" she demanded quietly of the giggling physicist. Bruce laughed, shook his head and then he winked. _He. Winked. At. Her._ The world was sure to be ending or something, because if Toni was positive of just one thing, it was that Robert Bruce Banner could not pull off a wink. Only she had just been proven wrong.

"I'm just saying, you kind of talk about him a lot," Bruce defended himself, putting up one hand in the universal 'I surrender' sign, the other still gripping the bar mounted onto the ceiling. "And he compliments you a lot, if you actually think about what he says. Says all kinds of stuff, like how you're really smart and pretty. Actually, his Brooklyn accent is always peeking through when he talks about you. And he kind of uses a lot of his 40's vocabulary when he mentions you, like calling you a dame."

Toni doubted that was true, because whenever she heard Steve talking about her, he normally sounded either furious, exasperated, frustrated, or some combination of the three. And here was Bruce insisting that something was up between them.

"I'm pretty sure the rest of the team thinks it's adorable, how he gets all flustered when you walk in, or blushes when you talk," Bruce commented. Them he stopped and corrected himself. "Well no, that's not true. Natasha said, and I quote, 'When are they going to stop secretly flirting? It makes me want to vomit all over the both of them.' Not sure what that was about. But I know for a fact that Clint and Thor think it's cute," Bruce decided, nodding his head in satisfaction. Toni had no idea what he was talking about.

"What?" she said, feeling rather dumb.

Bruce sighed and put a hand on Toni's shoulder like some sort of overindulgent father. "We think you guys should, you know, get together," he said, quietly at least, because Steve was looking over at them during their secret-sharing time, and now had a frown on his face.

"_What?!"_ Toni repeated, a lot louder this time. Natasha poked her head out of the cockpit to shoot her a questioning look. Steve's now panicky eyes narrowed in first on her face, then switched to roving up and down her form as though searching for some kind of injury that he expected to be spurting blood. She waved the both of them off and sent an incredulous look at Bruce, who winked again _(ohmyfuckinggod)_, and then pointed out the window, where robots were running amok in the streets.

"We're here. Go ahead Captain, call it." Hawkeye spoke up from his position over the controls of the quinjet.

Steve locked eyes with Toni for a second, as if he was simultaneously warning her and staring at her in some kind of intimate – she quickly cut off that train of thought and directed her attention back onto the captain. He nodded once. "Right. Hawkeye, Widow, stay here, use the guns if you have to. Just don't go anywhere in your… current condition." He stopped for a moment, as though to digest the sour taste the guilt brought. Toni knew because she was swallowing back her own dose. "Banner, you know what to do. Stark," He paused there, unsure of what he could say that she might actually take under consideration, "You have the skies. Keep 'em within a four block perimeter. I'll take care of the rest." Toni nodded, determined to follow orders this time. "Anything to add, Stark?" he asked, face set in stone. She looked over in shock before shaking her head and snapping the facemask into place.

"Sounds good to me, Cap," she confirmed in the electronic masculine voice of Iron Man.

"Okay," he agreed. "Be safe."

Bruce nudged her again.

oOo

It began with a malfunction in her left palm repulsor, just like the last time.

At first she thought nothing of it, because just two days ago the Mark IX was doing a lot worse, and forty eight hours was not a lot of time to fix an entire suit of mechanized armor. So she kept fighting, trying to keep the bad guys on her right side. For maybe twenty minutes she did okay, until she realized that the thrusters and the chest repulsor had powered down as well, and that she was dropping like a stone in between the short bursts of flames that spurted out of her boots. She finally panicked then, because another few cyborgs were approaching her and without her trademarked ability to fly she was undoubtedly and officially toast. The panic only intensified when the thrusters cut off fully and she dropped through the air unresisting.

She crash-landed on the rooftop of a building that was at least half the size of Stark tower, which was definitely saying something about its height. Looking over the side without the ever helpful, analyzing HUD or the safety of being in her flight-enabled suit of armor gave her vertigo, even though the view from the eighty-fourth floor of her tower was a lot worse. From what she could see when she turned to scan the wide expanse of rooftop, there was a door near the opposite end of the space, made of sturdy oak and screwed tightly into a cement block with brass colored hinges. Kinda weird, but whatever. An exit was an exit.

She hit the auto-release clamp on the side of the helmet. It was nearly impossible to move in the suit when it was out of power, unless you had the strength of Thor. Soon enough, the armor was off and lying in an awkward position on the rooftop. Toni hated to leave the suit just sitting there, where some random pedestrian or maybe some rabid fan could snatch it up and try to ransom it off in return for her life earnings or possibly her hand in marriage.

(_Shudder.)_

Unfortunately for her, and fortunately for rabid fans and random pedestrians everywhere, she had no choice, and deduced that the suit would have to stay there until after they had taken care of the remaining couple cyborgs. Free of the weight of a couple hundred pounds of metal and advanced technology, she made a break for the door.

Except the only thing standing in her way was another handful of the sleek assassin-bots.

In her panic to get away from the edge of the roof and her inner debate on the general safety of rooftops concerning multi-million dollar technology, she failed to realize when the very dangerous, definitely merciless, and quite possibly rabid robots began encircling her. The only place they weren't standing was directly behind her. Of course, that option was a one-way ticket to a fifty story free fall and then instant death by heroic splatter art. Neither option sounded enticing to the conflicted and rather scared genius billionaire. Impatient, the cyborgs made the choice for her by pressing forwards, arms extended in front of themselves and snapping their robotic clamps loudly. Toni backed up in blank-minded panic and slipped, one rubber Chuck Taylor sole with its bright white tread slipping off of the cement like soap on the bottom of a shower stall.

People always claim in movies that their lives flash before their eyes when they almost die. Right before Toni slipped from the roof, she figured that she would do something life-changing in the face of death, maybe come to a realization about a human's one true purpose on Earth, or what the secret to a successful, happy and healthy lifestyle, which would be pretty ironic considering she was literally seconds away from her own violent death. She would deny it later, but as she fell, the only thing that came to mind was to scream. Not even in slow motion, or in a really heroic way. Toni's one thought as she fell to what she was sure would be instant death was the following:

"_AIIIEEEEEEEEEEEE!"_

Followed by an incredibly painful _THUD!_ and the sound of something cracking. She bit back a groan and cracked open her eyes, which she had clenched tightly shut around the time she passed floor forty five. A pair of terrified blue eyes – a hue of ice that she knew so well from all the time she had spent staring into them over the past few months they had spent as team members – swam before her vision. It took her a moment to process this. Someone had caught her. Someone who she had accused of doing the opposite should she ever fall to her death. Some with really nice blue eyes.

And maybe that wasn't the only fall he caught her from.

oOo

It was exactly a week later when Steve Rogers received a summons via JARVIS that had originated from the ever-mysterious pit of mystery (as named by himself and Thor), otherwise known as the private lab of one Antonia Emily Stark. He was spending time with the rest of the team, and at the moment were locked in an incredibly vicious last few rounds of one intense game of Disney's Haunted Mansion themed Clue. Steve was the little pewter figure Pluto, and was one turn away from making his final guess and winning the game when the electronic butler chimed from the ceiling.

"Captain, Miss Stark wishes to see you on floor seventy seven if you would not mind."

Almost immediately, all other thoughts were wiped from his brain at the thought of Toni. It had been seven days since he had snatched her right out of the air halfway between floor nineteen and eighteen of the building she had fallen off of. He had made the catch while precariously balanced on the opened hatch of the quinjet, and had almost fallen off until Natasha hit the lever, raising the ramp and effectively saving the both of their lives. She had locked her arms around his neck and cried into his uniform until the skin of his shoulder underneath was sticky with saltwater tears.

It had been quick work of Natasha and Clint alternatively firing off the quinjet's cannons to dispatch the remaining three robots that had almost cost the billionaire her life. After a lengthy flight back to the tower, during which Toni had refused to do anything other than curl even further into Steve's warm and protective chest and bury her face in his neck. Bruce had watched the two the entire flight with a funny expression on his face. Then, the second they had landed, Toni had leapt from Steve's embrace and locked herself in her lab.

Which brought them to their positions now.

"Come on Steve, Toni can wait," Clint complained as he maneuvered his white Mickey Mouse token into the Séance room. "Do you wanna lose?"

Steve, who was incredibly competitive and hated losing board games, ignored the fact that it was Clint's turn to make a guess, plucked up Pluto from his spot in the hallway, deposited him in the attic, and fired off his final conclusion of "Daisy Duck, the prisoner, the mausoleum." He stood and strode off to frantic rustling and Clint and Thor wrestled each other to determine who would check the envelope. Natasha deftly plucked it from the center of the game board, slit it open, and examined the cards inside. Bruce, who had been peering over her shoulder, yelled "Cheater!" at Steve's retreating back.

Steve himself had a smile on his face as he boarded the elevator and hit button seventy seven. His grin broadened when the button actually lit up.

oOo

The inside of Toni Stark's private lab was not at all what Steve pictured it to be. The door to it was sheets of glass inside a metal frame, allowing an impressive view into the expansive room that lay behind those doors. Her work area took up an entire floor of her huge skyscraper, and still was crammed tight with every piece of machinery one could ever imagine, plus a lot more one couldn't, and a collection of cars parked along far wall by the window. Another elevator door, this one a freight elevator, occupied one corner. Steve suspected it went down to Toni's garage. One of the many massive floor to ceiling windows lining the wall was wired up to the ceiling.

Curiosity overtaking him, Steve put a hand on the handle and pulled. It slid open with a soft wooshing noise, and he passed over the threshold into the lab.

It was a lot brighter than he had imagined, and quieter. Sunlight filtered in through the walls of windows, and the AC-DC Toni seemed so fond of was switched off. The billionaire herself was nowhere to be seen. Steve began wandering the room in interest, his artist's eye instantly drawn to the labyrinth of lab tables heaped with all types of things: pieces of twisted wire, chunks of metals, welding helmets, hammers, a blowtorch, old versions of her arc reactors, bottles of oil and grease and even paint. He trailed his fingers along the many projects, some abandoned, some still in the works, but all very polished and taken care of.

It was beautiful.

"Steve," a quiet voice piped up from one corner of the lab. The super soldier turned around slowly, coming face to face with a disheveled and messy looking Toni Stark.

It was obvious she hadn't showered at all since she'd locked herself away, but somehow still managed to smell of oranges beneath the thick perfume of grease clinging to her skin. Her arms and cheeks and forehead were all streaked with shiny black oil marks, and her long, dark brown curls had been tied back in a loose and very messy bun, chunks of her bangs falling out to frame the sides of her face. She looked thinner too, as though she had eaten hardly anything in the time she'd spent locked up.

"Hi," he breathed out, almost sure that if he was any louder she would skitter off like a frightened mouse.

Her grip on whatever it was she was holding tightened. "Steve, I know I'm really shitty at apologies, but you were right about last week, on that first mission. I agreed to be on the Avengers and I've time and time again recognized you as our captain, and so I have no right to disobey your orders like that. And I'm really sorry, okay?"

Steve went to grab her calloused hands in his own. Her head tilted up and their eyes locked. Unconsciously, he moved a step closer to her. "Well you were right. I should have listened to what you had to say, no matter how pressed for time we were. Toni, I'm really sorry, and you were right."

She stared at him for a minute before letting out a huff of air. He didn't even realize they were so close that it hit his face. He didn't think even wonder if she kept a toothbrush down here, because her breath smelled like sharp peppermint.

"Here I go trying to apologize to you, and you have to apologize to me."

"Well you deserve an apology, because you were right and I was being completely insensitive to you," he argued back.

"Doesn't matter right now," she said, waving off what could have blossomed into another spectacular argument. "But about what I said. I was wrong about Bucky. I was tired and angry and I shouldn't have said it because I definitely didn't mean it and it wasn't true. And I was wrong." Her voice grew so quiet Steve had to strain his ears to hear her. "Because you caught me."

She opened her hands to him, to reveal what was another arc reactor, most likely her newest version of the little device. Its glow was a little darker blue than normal, almost exactly like the hue he wore on his uniform. She pressed it into his hands, silently urging him to investigate it further. He brought it up to his face. And there it was, her heart, really, bared to him in all of its beautiful shining glory. And it kind of brought tears to his eyes, because the design of the metal and the glass on the surface of the reactor was seemingly laid out with the image of his shield in mind. He was literally etched all over the surface of her heart. He set it back in her waiting hands, speechless.

Only just noticing that she was wearing a pewter grey tank top over her stained khaki shorts, (which made it incredibly easy to see her the arc reactor) Steve watched as she popped out her previous mark, and set the new one in its place. It clicked into position without as much as a hiss in protest. She glanced nervously up at him, her hands wringing themselves, her teeth worrying her (forever delicious-looking) lip.

However, she needn't have worried. Steve wasted no time in encircling her waist with his arms, lowering his head, and molding his mouth firmly to hers. She sank into his grasp with relief, and at the same time, passionately returning his kiss. He could feel her as she threaded her hands through his thick spiky blond hair, her fingernails scraping his scalp. She was warm and her lips were chapped against his soft ones, and he could taste grease on her mouth, and he had never seen her more perfect. A moment later, she pulled back long enough to take in several gasps of oxygen, her lips puffy and red, and promise him, "I don't normally wear my heart on my sleeve… or in this case, my shirt," before he had locked their lips again.

**a/n: do you hear that? It kinda sounds like… THE CHEESIEST ENDING TO A ROMANCE FIC EVER WRITTEN. I swear, I do not regret a single thing. NO SHAME.**

**So please, please drop a review for me. If you read this the first time I posted it, which version is better? If you're a newbie, did you enjoy it? I think my favorite bit was their little cheerleader, Brucie bear. He knows what's goin' on and he's all chill about it. Love him. Please give me feedback!**


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